#but then he dropped the “just” so now his name is nochang

[gorespawn]

and this right here is ecnadance 24 by nochang, on his 2.5 hours long album ajoohcmoohc. this is, well, it's one of 24 ecnadances on the album. the last ecnadance. but there are 6 more songs that are not ecnadances. my favourite ecnadance is probably ecnadance 4, though it's a bit hard to keep track of which is which

can i interest anyone in some evil music? anyone?

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — maestro

summary: a song written in 2016. an angry boy says fuck you to the people that doubted his talents, again. warnings: none wc: 1820 (not including lyrics)

he touches a real piano for the first time in years.

the set of ivory keys lined up, sparse increments of black filling the void. eighty-eight keys, fifty two white thirty six black. he’s always favored the b and e from first glance when he realized the onyx keys weren’t the only casualty of a flat or sharp. it takes him all but three seconds to line up the technical keys — first the octave progressions that start with basic fingering. four fingers, spanning eight keys. it starts at octave one, breaches to octave seven.

he remembers the first time he played a piano.

five years old at the mercy of his mother — pianos make pretty hands, and my son will have pretty hands. in hindsight, he doesn’t know what the fuck she meant then, and still doesn’t know when he’s twenty-seven severed ties from a family long gone. yet, he remembers the prosperious beginnings of a formidable boy at age eight — playing along the tunes of chopin, schubert and mendelsson. 

for old times sake, he plays the etudes. and like muscle memory, schubert and the hours invested into each tick on the clock and mark against the practice sheet take its toll — it plays smoothly, and the smirk curved on his face tells otherwise of the distaste that subsides inside his stomach.

he leaves, places his hand on the side arm before folding himself ninety degrees (muscle memory takes him there too).

-

the taste of a grand piano becomes addicting on his fingers like an insatiable itch by the time it’s three days pass. he waits another two.

addiction doesn’t pass, and impulsitivity ensues. his name marked on the reservation sheet placed in the recording room with the grand piano, he marches straight through combatted for war with the lingering ties of his past.

it starts when he mimics the beginnings of beethoven and mozart — the first names he learns when he’s sitting on edge scrawled across the piano with the sheet music at bay. it’s the first of two pieces juxtaposed together, inside the minor keys (he remembers, he hated the minors. too many damn sharps to account for). it starts with a two note combination — flits past two octaves. it’s here it becomes an ode, a death march to the things he’s buried under.

but his creativity ceases when he’s struck at a standstill.

no beethoven or bach — there’s nothing that budges past the iteration of the same baseline he’s concocted. no codas composing one break into the next — instead, it’s a repeat measure when he finds solace inside. clicks of the mouth amassing it, only to string it out past the span of three minutes.

it’s the ode to classics and the greatest: the bare standard he manages when he’s thrown the years of promising futures to a life underground and the classics washed away into the easy floating beats of hip hop and rap. yet, he never loses respect — the morsel of respect left for the era that kept him afloat all those years. and he suspects, it must be an effect of music. the keys that leave him jarred and marred with years of memories he can’t forget nor bury. call him a hypocrite — he doesn’t fall out of love with the classics. not when he’s eight and not when he’s twenty-two on the verge of relenting adulthood.

-

he takes the notes for what it’s worth — the repetition on loop in the background. and if he’s had to guess, he gives it to his favorite period: the romantic era where chopin and brahms take him by storm. 

yet, the contrast takes him when the black screen reflects his own image — the contours of his face, sullen and pulled empty by the ties of schedules. stretched to his core where music no longer hovers along lonely bodies and disassociations. a scandal a dozen, and he’s stripped bare void of any creative freedom or outlet. (this becomes his outlet).

when his pen mars the empty pages, and he’s left with telling the story untold. a history he’s never spoken — the question looms: who is chung gyujeong. like a nightmare, he can’t give the answer. instead, what he knows is that the piano became a life hold when he was five. fawns over his small frame and sways to the movement of his fingers — talent encompassing. now, he makes bodies sway to the shitty rhymes and pop-drenched beats of a sell-out inundating him heavy.

sunbaes, and he has to fold himself over. speak the formalities to same fucking round of people trapped in the vicious cycle. it’s here, he understands. his escape started at fourteen, inside late nights with nothing more than a side lamp and the tawdry note pad — lyrics. sounds of his mother shaking her head, yanking him into obedience inside the four walls of hakwons saying the carbon-printed sayings of ‘there’s no future in lyrics. time for piano.’ 

he shakes his head, laughs. the ripple effect coming inside a wash of memories when he tells her to look at him now — a lost son, cut and tied with a cold shoulder faced to his family inside a marble house. “call me maestro.” his voice whispers out loud.

i played the piano since i was 5, i was a musical genius beethoven, mozart, bach and chopin were my predecessors however at 14, i put them aside and started writing lyrics i quite like this, you can’t make money that way — they all can shove it unlimited refills of versace drink — that was my first movement maserati car, white marble house — that was my second. the mic is my baton, call me maestro

there’s parallelisms he sees in clear sight, visceral and vibrant. the sounds of people telling him that he’d fuck up the second he cut his money string in family roots in tune with the rancid talks of idols pinpointing an inflated ego with no talent. gyujeong huffs a laugh, raises a middle finger in lieu of the words held down without a punch. there’s no gentleness here, no. not when the world opens into clarity — the divide between him and them. he’s not a fucking sell out, not when he’s still put his art on the line. traded in the suit pants of the events for his distressed pants and the years of lessons into amassing his own small empire.

he flicks a middle finger at his family — fuck you all for never seeing me for my work. and fuck you to the underground facades guising themselves as a temporary home only to rip out the benefits the second he stepped onto a big stage. this song becomes his mic drop — a fuck you to everyone because it’s chung gyujeong against the world. a twenty something with his pride tattered, he salvages the remains and puts them right here.

truthfully, distressed pants are way better than suit pants i can’t be gentle, i just scream and the money piles up the wealthy are all on the gentle side mr. geonhee give up your ceo title to me mr. nochang should give me his “genius name”* (천재노창 / genius nochang is a real rapper, but i’m using it as a npc point for gyu for the sake of verifications)

there’s stares inside every hallway he walks across. the scowl permanently engraved along his face when he passes by the hopefuls with innocence drowning their eyes in starry-wide visions. then, the whispers back stage of crude avoidance (he hears them all. hears all the shit, sees all the shit they say). a no-good nothing, spoiled and satiated by the fame handed to him on a silver platter — a talentless nothing, starved by nothing. they call him fucked, he calls them pathetic.

you listen to my line just now and say i’m fucked up.

his family’s pathetic when their on their last lifeline. a stern warning coming in volatile shouts, repeating in steps — you’ll never make it, so stop the act now. teenage rebellion stopped at fourteen, and that’s when he takes a plunge into the risks. by then, he’d been a boy with high hopes and higher expectations, a cesspool of goals and the ambition bursting the seams of his heart. an image with the name ‘haon’, a gentle rich boy nestled inside the heart of han-nam (he tells the underground kids, choke on your words when we’re on different levels).

but rather than being locked up by life i’d rather plunge right into the risks i knew my voice would be my moneymaker i dug a huge pit in the neighborhood ground with music and declared that my confidence was my classic image “to me, a sonata is just a car.” i’ll never think anything like that.

no expectations now, he tells it all to eat the shit he’s sowed. choke on their sacred words and cheap laughs, mocking his state. a sell-out, maybe — but he doesn’t take that to his grave. not when his pen still flows against the paper inside each verse and rhyme matching clear. it’s not da capo, and never the beginning. from here, he crawls his way out — fingers pressed and clawing for the taste of his name for everyone to choke on.

he writes the last few statements in a farewell to the harrowing thoughts that kept him restless for so many nights. the pen, dwindling on the last remains of ink — he stops caring, and lets the imprints carry the words he’ll take to heart.

fuck da capo, ill never go back to the beginning no applause, no, play the second movement, hallelujah the normal kids can fuck off but i don’t give a fuck son here is your tombstone with your name written on it. my art hall is the club, call me maestro.

the loop plays in the back, and he repeats the words written back. it flows, uncertain and heady when he doesn’t get it straight the first time.

frustration comes when he grabs onto his hair, pacing back and forth inside an echoing studio booming only the same chords from the start — beethoven’s madness, he thinks to himself. it’s a taste of mirroring an art form, and here, he must be doing something right.

headphones solidified back into his ears, he goes fueled this time. fueled by each memory and word shot back at him like weaponry, aimed straight for his gut. it comes in the billows of his voice, blaring when he shouts and places a piece of his soul into the chords played. there’s no repercussions here, not when it’s just him and the keys in a dead-eye match of past, present and future.

(he takes this, keeps it till the eighth take fulfills).

and what lacks, he sees when his ears perk up the void that lays subtle inside the track. he doesn’t want the hollowness of the piano — not when he sits upon as a maestro of an orchestra. 

the keyboard comes out — this time fine tuned settings poised towards the deep cellos coming in at the two minute mark. it sets the baseline once more for the breach into the bridge. he sits there, doesn’t want it to linger longer than it’s enough to get the punch of meaning into frame. because he’s no longer the classist perched against the walls of a lonely room with no windows and the piano’s not the only voice he speaks to. instead, it’s the frame of a closing in on an attack he’s ready to dig deep in.

no longer a pianist, he picks up friend through the loose mic. the traverse into hip hop where the kick drum and reverbs become solace (he adds those too). adds in each of beat at the end of each iteration. the chords become hugged by the bellowing arches of the reverb, and he finds — this becomes his new sound of home. the one replayed at the hands of his martyrdom. except, he doesn’t fall at the hands of so many loose words. fragility, it doesn’t exist when he’s built himself a skin of armor like a shell encasing a boy no longer molded or mangled.

he’s been strung thin long enough. heard enough empty words. it’s a lesson learned — fuck everyone who’s ever doubted him. 

[khhunniewriting]

Whatever You Want

Valentine’s Day Special

It was Valentine's Day and you were all smiles as you got a ride to work from your boyfriend Siyoung, better known by his stage name Giriboy. You had been dating for more than three years now. He was happy to call you his girlfriend and was quick to publicly announce your relationship so he wouldn’t have to hide anything and could see you whenever he wanted.

When he pulled up in the parking lot of your workplace you quickly leaned across to his side to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the ride,” you grabbed your bag and opened the car door.

“Wait,” Siyoung held your hand to stop you from getting out of the car. “I know we aren’t giving each other gifts this year but I still want to spend time with you.”

You nodded also wanting to be with him, “me too.”

“Then can you get off work early?”

“I can, but can you?” you giggled as you teased him. He wasn’t the best when it came to timing.

Siyoung glared at you feeling offended by the question. “If I’m asking it’s because I am going to do it, for sure.”

“Let’s make a bet then. If you are home when I get there then I will do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

You nodded, “whatever you want.”

Siyoung licked his lips as his mind went somewhere dirty. 

“But if you aren’t...” you snapped him out of his fantasy and back to reality. “If you fail once again then I won’t forgive you.”

“Deal,” Siyoung immediately took the bet knowing that he would win this time. You two didn’t have any particularly good Valentine’s to look back on but this one would be different

First Valentine’s Day

Siyoung wasn’t really sure what to give you since it was his first Valentine’s Day with you. He didn’t want to ask you because he knew you would say you didn’t want a gift so he went the safe route and got you a bouquet of red roses and a teddy bear.

He wanted to surprise you so he didn’t tell you he was coming over. When you opened the door you smiled, “Siyoung!” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day Baby,” he smiled seeing you in his shirt. He could tell you had just gotten out of the shower because your hair was still wet.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you repeated happy to see him there with the stuffed bear in one hand but were curious to know why the other was behind his back. “What are you hiding be-” you were unable to finish your sentence as you sneezed a couple of times. You thought nothing of it until you saw the roses poking out from behind him and backed away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m allergic to roses,” you sneezed again. 

He immediately put the flowers down to the side. “Sorry Y/N I didn’t know.” He was starting to feel bad when he saw your red watery eyes.

“It’s okay, I never told you. At least I can keep this one,” you giggled at his worried expression as you took the bear from his arms and hugged it. 

Second Valentine’s Day

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Fine but at least let me do something. What if I take you out on a date?” Siyoung was eager to make up for the previous year. He wanted to show you that he was a romantic guy and that he cared about you.

A smile graced your face as you became intrigued by the idea. “What kind of date?” Maybe your boyfriend wasn’t the best gift giver but perhaps he could plan out a romantic evening.

Siyoung quickly took his phone out to show you what he had been planning. “I saw this restaurant and thought you would like it.” For the past week, he looked online for a good place to take you. He even asked those around him for advice and had finally come up with a good date plan.

“That looks like a nice place.” You used your finger to scroll down the screen of his phone; your excitement grew the more you looked. “Let’s do it!” You leaned your head on his shoulder as you hugged him. 

Siyoung smirked feeling triumphant even though he hadn’t gone through with it yet he could tell this year he was going to succeed in showing you how romantic he could be. On the actual day however...

You sighed as you head rested on the palms of your hands. An hour had passed and you were still waiting for your boyfriend to show up. That’s how long it had taken you to decide what you would be wearing but it didn’t seem to matter anyway because he wasn’t around to see you.

The waiter approached you for the second time that night. “Sorry Miss but if you don’t order I will have to give your table to another customer. It’s Valentine’s Day and there are many people waiting.” He felt bad thinking you had been stood up.

“That’s okay, I think I’ll go now.”

At the same time, Siyoung was pressing the button on the elevator several times as if it would help make it faster. When the doors opened to his floor he quickly made his way to his apartment knowing he had messed up again.

When he got inside and noticed you weren’t there he began to panic. The last text you sent him said you would be going home but if you weren’t there then he kept thinking many bad things. At the top of the list was the thought of you having left him for good.

His worries didn’t go away until moments later when you came through the front door holding a bag of takeout. “Y/N!” he rushed over to you with an apologetic smile. He was so happy to see you and was taken away by your beauty that his jaw dropped at the sight of you. 

You giggled, “Are you happy to see me or are you drooling because you know I brought you fries?”

"I’m so sorry,” he hugged you. 

“It’s okay, I know you were busy.”

“How?” He pulled away in confusion. He hadn’t even explained himself yet so how did you know he had gotten caught up at the studio.

“I got a text.”

“From who?”

“Vasco”

“Really?”

You nodded, “Then I got one from everyone else. Even Dongrim (Mad Clown) texted me; he said he wasn’t there but Jihoon (Swings) told him what was going on and he was worried I would be mad at you.”

“I can’t believe he took the time to help me out when he is probably out with his wife.” Siyoung was thankful that his friends were looking out for him. They knew how much he loved you and wanted it to work out between you two.

“Me neither, I was going to call and apologize because it didn’t seem right to just text him back but then Vasco called to yell at me because I still refuse to call him Stax.” You had made it well known to everyone that you preferred his previous stage name. “So you apologize to Dongrim next time you see him.”

“I think I should worry about properly apologizing to you first.” He knew you weren’t mad but he still felt he had to make it up to you. He placed his hand under your chin to tilt your head up. His eyes closed as he gave you a sweet soft kiss. “Can you forgive me?” he kept his forehead pressed against yours as he waited for your reply.

Of course, you forgave him. you were never really mad to begin with. “I can but you have to take me to that restaurant again this weekend so that waiter can see I didn’t get dumped.”

Siyoung laughed, “Deal.”

Third Valentine’s Day

Siyoung yawned as he stretched, he knew it was getting late by how tired he was. Nochang watched curiously at how relaxed he was this year. “Are you sure it’s okay for you to stay so long?”

Siyoung nodded, “I already told Y/N I was going to work today.” He rubbed his eyes trying to stay awake and alert. 

“What did she say?” Nochang didn’t have an official girlfriend so he had no obligations but you and Siyoung had been together for a few years. 

“She’s fine with it I guess, she didn’t fight about it.” He shrugged, “I end up apologizing every Valentine’s Day anyway.”

On your way home you texted Siyoung to let him know you were going to be there soon thinking it was fair to give him a warning. You took the bus and it didn’t take long for you to get to your stop. From there it was a short walk to the house you shared with Siyoung. 

You didn’t see his car around which made you think he was going to lose the bet. When you opened the door you saw nothing, all the lights were off indicating your boyfriend was not home yet. The moment was bittersweet, for one you won but this wasn’t something you wanted to win. All you could think of now was changing into your least sexy and most comfortable pair of sweats.

Those thoughts were put on hold when you came to your bedroom door and saw a soft flickering light escape from underneath. You carefully opened the door to investigate the source and quickly closed it again when you saw Siyoung smiling triumphantly at you.

Once the initial shock was gone you opened the door once more with laughter, “You’re here!” You walked up to him avoiding the long strings that came down from the countless balloons that floated above your head. Taking a quick look around the room you saw there were so many small candles producing a soft warm light within the four walls. 

“Usually there are rose petals on the ground but I learned my lesson.”

You laughed at his joke. “I think candles are way nicer, dangerous but nice.” That’s when you looked over at the bed and saw it continued there. Taking a closer look you saw many shopping bags with designer name brands on them. “What’s all this? We said no gifts.”

“I couldn’t help it, I wanted to see you react like this.” He placed his hand under your chin to close your jaw. You weren’t even aware you had been gawking at the gifts. “I also did something else.”

“More?!” 

He nodded, “We’re going to go to that restaurant again. This time we will walk in there together on Valentine’s Day.”

“Wha-” you felt a warmth in your chest. Siyoung had gone way beyond redemption. Now you felt like you had to apologize and make it up to him. “Babe, I’m so sorry I really didn’t get you anything.”

He held your hands in his, a smile stretched from ear to ear. “I know that’s why I prepared something.” He took one of the bags from the bed and handed it to you. It was a bag from a well-known lingerie store. 

When you looked inside you understood what he was talking about. “Is this a gift for me or for you?”

“Well, I did win the bet so...” he trailed off with a grin.

You had forgotten all about that. “You want me to wear it now?”

“Yup” 

“But don’t we have to go to the restaurant?”

“We have an hour until then and you said I could have whatever I want remember?”

“Y-yeah,” you began to stutter as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips graced yours as he spoke, “All I want is you.”

-end-

A/N: In conclusion, they were late for dinner LOL.